


Elementary

by prettylittlefears82



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, F/M, First Meetings, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:34:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26502226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettylittlefears82/pseuds/prettylittlefears82
Summary: Bucky goes back to basics, simplicity. Gets back on his feet, gets a new arm, gets a...crush?***"Nothing is exempt from resurrection." - Kay Ryan
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Shuri, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky comes back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I'm in the process of editing chapters so that I can come back to this again. So far I've gone through chapter one and decided to leave two alone, adding 645 words though the plot hasn't changed. I'll pick things up on three where I plan to make some HUGE changes.

"Unfazed by the cold. Gone before you notice you've been shot. The Winter Soldier. Oooooh..." teases Dugan, elbowing him and taking a swig of the bottle of bourbon he'd managed to acquire.

Bucky only sits still, leaning his elbow back on a log as he watches embers of their bonfire flicker up and out. It’s utterly freezing still, but he can’t find himself to care, almost like he’s numb to a point. It’s frightening. The other men continue to throw teases and backhanded compliments his way.

Steve kneels down behind Bucky’s log, knees scruffing against the rough surface, and whispers into his ear, "You'll never see him coming. He's a ghost story, " he pops his head out in front of him. " _ Boo, _ " he says, throwing his hands out exaggeratedly.

Bucky swats him off as the rest of the Howling Commandos laugh. 

"I'm not that big of a deal." He says, perhaps a little too harsh for the occasion, but either everyone’s too drunk to notice, or they simply don’t care; except Steve, who complained every drop spilled into his throat would run like water and simply be a waste, so he took nothing.

The super-soldier eyes him as he sits on the toppled log, head tilting down a few feet above him so that he can watch him carefully. He decides he doesn’t like what he sees and frowns, mouthing ‘what’s going on’ so that the other men don’t hear.

And they don’t, continuing their tirade.

"Dude are you serious?" pipes up Sawyer. "You're the best sniper...I would say ever."

"Those guys out there, " says Morita as he points out beyond their little camp, "have nightmares about you.  _ I _ have nightmares about you." he added pointing to himself.

Bucky rests his head on his fis, mumbling under his breath.

"Don't be shy. It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

But isn't it? What is he going to do when he gets back? When everyone else goes back to their families - and Steve, art school?

Steve for one, sees his worries, placing a placating arm on his shoulder as he rubs the corners of his eyes, fighting off sleep.

“I don’t think competence in a shooting range equals job opportunities,” he says, effectively shutting them up. He loves these guys to death - would die protecting them need be - but they can be excessively pushy, especially on beer or whatever the hell else they sneak.

“You’ll find something.” Steve whispers, voice thick with wariness.

And Bucky tells himself,  _ he will _ .

“Until then though, you’re stuck with us, out in the coldddd wilderness,” he finishes, and Bucky wonders if he did sneak a little something, but figures it doesn’t matter as he cracks a small smile anyways.

* * *

He does stay with them. A few more missions, a few more kills, the usual. Until one day, everything changes.

"I've got him," he whispers into his earpiece eye on the target - some poor Russian soldier standing guard outside a vault. He doesn’t know what’s inside. He never will.

A few lone snowflakes flurry in front of his face, remnants of a storm that just ended minutes ago, almost exactly when they’d decided to send him out when it’s over. Bucky called it lucky, and Steve, an apparent realist ( _ when the hell did that happen? _ ) called it pure coincidence. Nevertheless, when the wind calmed down they sent Bucky up to the cliff's edge, where he could get an acute view of the ground.

"We'll be there in five. Stay ready." says the Captain, presently - ever confident - though his speech is slightly distorted by the rushing of his helicopter; this is one thing he does consider lucky, because it’d been with him this whole journey, through years and years of work in the field.

So he does ready himself, lifting up his rifle gingerly to test the waters; a few centimeters to the right, and to the left, in front of his eyes, back again, until someone gives the go ahead.

“Almost right above you soldier, now!”

He takes aim and then the shot, and with a pop, his rifle sends the bullet straight through the soldier's heart. As he falls down cross-legged and onto the snow, he bleeds out, turning white snow into a crimson red.

As he reaches up to tap into his earpiece again, four or five men come out from behind the building, arms at the ready, pointed up in his direction. He knows he’s well-hidden so he looked up to see Steve, accompanied by Jones and Pinkerton, doing his best to man an aircraft as the men on the ground shoot at it.

They fly dangerously close to him and he reaches up to grab the skids, but misses as the copter jolts suddenly, barely missing an explosive. Bucky’s thrown off balance, falling backwards onto the snow a bit away from where the explosive let off, though the force still pushes him back towards the edge of a cliff.

He holds on with his right arm and swings his left to try and climb up but nothing happens. And then suddenly he feels an acute, stinging pain like nothing he’d ever felt before.

Nothing happened because his left arm wasn't there. It’d been blown to hell by the blast.

He holds a fierce grip on the rock above him as he’s unable to look away from the soaking red, torn edge of his navy jacket. Icy rock melts to a slip underneath his palm, and he falls, the last thing registering to his limping body Steve’s desperate scream of “ _ NO! _ ”

Then silence.

James Buchanan Barnes was pronounced Missing In Action.

The Winter Soldier was given a new purpose. The fist of modern Hydra, still running underneath S.H.I.E.L.D., though he'd been taught it was eradicated in World War ll.

With his metal arm, deadly aim - still intact despite the brainwashing - and even deadlier hand-to-hand combat, he truly was a menace.

7 years passed. Now he really was a ghost story. But not a hero, at least not to anyone outside of Hydra.

"Bucky?"

The Howling Commandos had found him, and with the help of S.H.I.E.L.D, Hydra was no more.

The affair had been a relatively quick one. Some yelling. He was knocked in the head a few times, jostled around a few more, and his unconscious body was pulled out of a river and taken to a lab.

When he awoke, he was tied to a table and connected to what must've been a million machines.

His first thought is,  _ they've taken me back, Steve failed.  _ Even darker:  _ again _ .

And those are the thoughts that launch him into an immediate panic. He tries his best to break from the straps, tubes jolting and sending their connected machines halfway across the room as alarms start ringing.

A dark figure comes into the room as he screams “stop” in about a dozen languages, each time like a puff of his very breath: easy and not mattering in the slightest. He can’t tell where he is, but even though his memory fails him, he knows he's never seen the place before.

The figure comes into focus. He sees a large man with soft eyes and rectangular-rimmed glasses before something is injected into his arm. He almost laughs, knowing it won’t work just to end up yelling profanities when the man's face fades from his view.

* * *

When Bucky Barnes goes home, he isn't met with cheers and welcome signs - not how he'd imagined more than a decade before. What he’d  _ hoped _ and  _ dreamed  _ of. This is much, much different. Firstly, Steve’s shabby apartment isn’t home. Secondly, home, his family, isn’t here. He isn't even met with the smiling faces of Becca and his mother. And he knows he’s fallen deep into the corners of his dark mind when he thinks,  _ maybe this is for the better _ .

Because it would break them to see him like this; torn, broken, missing a damn limb for God’s sake.

And...he thinks it’s for the better because he wants to save someone the agony, because it seems far too late to save himself, and he doesn’t want to give them the burden of false hope along with his sprawling list of apparent problems.

When they deemed him safe for recovery, he stayed in a small apartment with Steve. Bucky stayed in bed for at least a week, with nothing but his thoughts and the Trouble Man Soundtrack to keep him company.

Sometimes he wonders how Steve had acquires such a taste in music. (For as long as he had known him the man had listened to swing and jazz, his taste being that of a much older man.)

Other times his mind reverts back to his old life, a life far gone, might as well have been blown in the wind. His past.

He thinks of his mother, who died sometime after he'd been captured, apparently. So then he tries not to think of her, but that’s hard.

A few times a day Steve sets a tray of soft, bland food in front of him. He doesn't look so sad when Bucky eats, and that might be the only reason he does, because it feels like rocks going down his throat. Maybe the ills of his mind have spread to his taste buds.

He seriously can’t tell. Every one of his senses seem to be dialed down a few notches, an effect of - from what he'd heard - the purely experimental anesthetic he'd been given.

No one knew when it would wear off, so he was told to stay in bed until he was absolutely sure it did. They didn't want anything more to go wrong for him.

Steve doesn’t speak to him for the first few days, just watches him. Familiar, warm blue eyes looking especially crestfallen from a distance as he sits in an armchair in the far corner of the room. 

It reminds him, if only slightly, of when Steve would come back home all beaten and bloodied and his family - their family - would patch him back up together again. _ He remembers _ . In pieces. Like Becca crying, and him teasing her, or his mother working herself in a frenzy to find where she'd put the first-aid kit since Steve's last fight.  _ Pieces _ . She’d always met the boy with a lecture and a stern face, but she was hurting inside. It must be how Steve feels now.

_ God _ , that seems like a hundred years ago. (And it might as well have been. His grasp on time seems to be slipping from him.)

The only difference is, now, Bucky’s the torn up broken one. Role reversal in a steady circle, like a clock ticking, until Steve opens back up again.

The day he decides to stand up is the day Steve started talking to him. He stays off particular subjects, but it’s almost just like it was before. Little jokes here, eventually, little jabs there. It’s nice.

He spent the days surfing the internet, re-learning everything he'd missed.

One day, he decides he'll actually do something.

He has it all planned out. He'd pick out some new clothes, get all cleaned up, go outside, and maybe even see what Steve is up to out there. Then he steps into the shower, and his carefully laid out plans are foiled.

The scalding hot water hits his back and drips down his legs. It soothes him, heat seeming to seep into his bones, melting something long frozen. With his eyes closed he lifts one arm, then the other. That's when he realizes - he can’t feel on his left.

Somehow he’d forgotten, but when he remembers, it hits him like a ton of bricks.

He couldn't feel.

Why? He’s missing an arm.

_ I’m missing an arm _ .

Reality sets in and everything shuts down as he falls to the shower, force knocking him out of the prolonged haze he’d been in for days upon days.

He’s fine though. Eventually.

Steve found him in the shower after he'd been in for way too long and the panicked man broke the door down.

They took him back to the hospital. He could tell this was a very special one, with its advanced technology and unconventional procedures. Steve confirmed his suspicions about the Udaku Medical Center.

The doctors figured he'd just had a panic attack and sent him home with some medication.

_ Home _ . He’ll have to live with it, because he isn’t in a dream state anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is very much appreciated. This work will be updated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few weeks later. T'Chaka's POV.

T'Chaka uploads the Russian files onto his database and enters the codes for them to be translated. He turns in his office chair to another screen where the text flashes from the Russian language to his native Xhosa just a few parts at a time. It takes a few seconds before it's all translated and recorded.

With a wave of his hand he reaches the top of the page. He squeezes his fingers together and then moves them apart right in front of the text he wants to zoom in on.

It shows a page from Vasily Karpov's personal journal. The date is the day Sergeant Barnes was captured. Satisfied, he leans back and begins to read.

* * *

**_Karpov's Journal_ **

_4-14-09_

_We took cover on the nearby premises. The American soldier was spotted on a ledge. Killed one of our men. I sent out more in response. In came his buddies and my soldiers only saw a glimpse of him before he disappeared again. He's good at what he does. It's a shame we blew his arm off. We were able to dig him out of the snow. He currently lays unresponsive with Dr. Ostrovsky..._

* * *

The man continues describe Barnes' location before the page cuts off.

The pages of Karpov's journal continue with increasingly obscure topics until T'Chaka hits the jackpot. There's pages upon pages of doctor's notes from one Dr. Ostrovsky, whose first name is never revealed.

* * *

**_Dr. Ostrovsky's Notes_**

_Dr. O, 5-5-09_

_Our attempt at Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation was indeed successful. To put it simply, the American was brought back from the dead. We are now running tests for possible enhancements, as U.S. military has been known to try. Take for example the failed "Captain America" of the 40s. He now lies with the other casualties of WWII..._

_Dr. O, 5-9-09_

_The American's capabilities were found to have not been altered in any way. He remembers none of his past experiences. We have been left with the mere shell of a man. I'd suggest that we see to his return to the United States, as he is of no use to us like this..._

_Dr. O, 5-28-09_

_My previous assumptions were incorrect. It still makes use of it's muscle memory. My colleagues currently in hospital beds are proof of that..._

_Dr. O, 5-30-09_

_Karpov refuses to let go of the asset because he believes it still has potential. As such, we've attempted to make use of some of the some of our old WWII files. I've developed a program that should heighten metabolism and pain tolerance..._

_Dr. O, 6-2-09_

_Upon Vasily Karpov's request, the asset was fitted with a prosthetic limb. The titanium appendage was given to us by the science department. It fits him well, other than a slight change to his posture due to the weight of it..._

_Dr. O, 6-15-09_

_The asset has developed a myriad of antibodies that reject any of our chemical treatments, though the physical programs have worked. It's not anywhere near super-human, but I believe science has not seen such an enhancement before. It has also seemed to come back to itself, and attacks to our staff have been more frequent. Karpov has chosen to put it into the field anyway..._

_Dr. O, 11-4-12_

_After about three years, our work on the asset is starting to falter. During its time in service, the enhancements have worn off..._

* * *

The notes continue with details about Barnes' health, status, and even diet. After a few years a new doctor takes over, and unfortunately, this is when Bucky becomes more aware of himself, and the torture starts.

After finishing, T'Chaka waves the screen off. Tired and feeling extremely empathetic, he decides to make a call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a little short but was meant to kind of explain the need of T'Chaka's *special anesthetic* which will be used for further purposes. Next chapter will be back to Bucky's POV.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and as always, comments are appreciated. Have a wonderful day/night!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "People often say that this or that person has not yet found himself. But the self is not something one finds, it is something one creates." - Thomas Szasz

"Buck, this one's for you," Steve calls out with his hand over the speaker, "It's the doctor."

Bucky tentatively walks over to where the other man stands, holding out the telephone line at an arms length. He takes it from Steve's hands and puts it up to his ear. On the other end of the line is grave silence before a voice calls out, "Hello?"

Bucky doesn't recognize the voice, but answers all the same, "Hello."

"Is this James Barnes?" the person asks, a heavy, but slowly slipping accent turning the 'r' into just a whisper.

"It is."

"Good morning Sergeant. I'm Dr. Udaku, founder and chief physician of the Udaku Medical Center-"

Now that he thinks about it, Bucky realizes he _does_ remember this man.

"-I was with you for the first few days. You're quite a special case. That brings me to why I called. I want to make you an offer of sorts."

Bucky stills at that. What more could this man possibly give him? 

"I was going through your files, and your arm gets maintenance about two times a month, correct?"

"To be honest, sir, I wouldn't know."

"Oh! I- I didn't think of that. I apologize. Well I was wondering if you'd like for us to get you a new one-"

"A new one?"

Bucky looks at the titanium, flexes his fingers, "I don't think that will be necessary," he starts, and he believes it. He remembers going on quite a while by himself. "It seems to be working fine."

Of course, the doctor proves him wrong. "For _now_ it is, actually-" He hears the ruffling of papers through the speaker. There's a long silence before the other man huffs in triumph.

"Take your arm," he starts, slowly, as if he's still reading, "And put it straight out from your shoulder in front of you."

He turns away from the wall, does it, and awaits further orders.

"Now turn your fist inwards...to the right. Keep doing that until you can no longer turn it."

Bucky does as he asks, and the hardware starts to vibrate, and then - it _screeches_.

" _Shit_ -"

"Turn it back, turn it back!" cries out the doctor, so he does, and it stops. " _That_ is one of the many problems."

"So when can I come in?" Bucky asks as a way of agreeing with him.

* * *

Tony Stark: genius, billionaire, playboy, _Merchant of Death_.

He made the military's weapons, until he didn't, so then his whereabouts were none of Bucky's concern. What Bucky was shocked to hear was that the man went from hurting to healing.

He now specialized in prosthetic limbs.

His clinic, known as "Stark's Place", was an extension of the Udaku Medical Center, although his services did not come for free. Luckily, Bucky was getting a special discount.

Steve spoke of Tony as if he were an old friend, so Bucky couldn't help but ask about it. He explained that after Bucky went missing, as they called it now, the Howling Commandos were placed closer to home. More importantly, closer to S.H.I.E.L.D., sometimes taking up homeland security.

Tony and Steve had befriended each other quickly, the former even becoming the brains behind the group's missions for the better part of his redemption period. During the telling of this story, Bucky learns about Sam, former pararescueman turned Steve's bestfriend and closest confidant. The pair met on one of Steve's early morning runs. "So you stalked him until you built up the courage to talk to him?" Bucky asks.

"Something like that." the other man mumbles, and from the gleam in his soft gaze as he twirls his spaghetti, Bucky can tell it really is _something_.

He doesn't press on the matter though, and tries not to think about it. But he can't help himself, can he? He's drying one of Steve's dishes when he asks, "So were you planning on asking Sam out that day?"

Steve's heads snaps up from where he was looking at the sink, almost as if Bucky had decided to throw the plate at him. It gives him all the answers he needs, but he still challenges him. Steve stares back incredulously before turning away as a slight blush rises to his cheeks.

"I-...He doesn't think of me that way."

At that, Bucky huffs. "You didn't answer the question."

The other man turns off the tap, but still looks down, so Bucky asks another question:

"Do you think of him that way?"

Steve sighs and gestures for them to re-enter the dining room to sit down. Just like that, they're back to telling each other everything.

* * *

"I'll be back at about 11," Steve calls out from his car. Bucky nods and waves as the other man he tips his "NASA" hat towards him, and with that he pulls out in to the street, leaving Bucky on the busy New York City street. As he turns around, tall buildings rise to his right, behind him, and to the left. They're all around, not much different from before he left but the one standing right in front of him.

He estimates it to be about a hundred stories tall, and he notices a long rope scales the entire length. He looks up, and sure enough, Tony Stark himself stands on a floating platform towards the top. He seems to be working on a sign, the only piece yet there a large "A".

Horns blare in the distance and cars rush behind him, each vehicle rushing past with a distinct "whoosh". People walk past him on the sidewalk, either talking to one another or into mobile devices. They've risen in popularity, he realized as soon as he came back, and doesn't quite know what to think of it. He keeps having to remind himself that he's not ancient. That this is basically the same world he left in the mid-2000s.

It's not like he'll ever get one of his own. He just doesn't see the need. Steve has a perfectly good landline back at his apartment that he uses, only to contact the people he needs to. Mostly doctors and government agents who want to get as much information out of him as possible. 

Well, as much information that hasn't already been released to the public by one Agent Romanoff.

He walks to the revolving door of the building, nodding politely to the man coming out of it, who barely pays him any mind. As he walks into a large foyer, he realizes it's a miracle no one cares enough to notice the metal arm that he's lousily hid in his front pocket - along with the other one so that his stance doesn't seem odd.

Bucky walks across the floor, eyes set on the the elevator. When he looks around, he doesn't feel as if the walls are closing in on him. In fact, it's the exact opposite. Being clear glass, they're opening up, showing passerbys everything there is to see inside. (Which he admits isn't much but babbling businessmen and women, and people much too busy for their own good.)

It should make him feel small, and it does, but not how he'd expect. He's _insignificant_ and it's the greatest feeling. He knows he hasn't shaped the atmosphere here, hasn't harmed anyone here; he's just another person. It lifts a weight off his shoulders he hadn't realized was ever there.

He gets into the elevator and goes up to floor five. He walks into a brightly lit waiting room, empty but for a man napping in a chair and the receptionist clicking away at her keyboard, the "screen" a surface of light floating in the air.

Walking towards the front desk, he takes his hands out of his pockets, figuring this is a safe place - or at least as safe as he's going to get.

The woman looks up at him, subsequently tucking a few loose braids behind her ears. Smoothing down her black and white mesh jacket, she plasters on a friendly smile, as he tries his best to do the same. He figures he's done his job when she starts talking.

"Good morning," she says cheerfully, her voice the very faint lilt of some country he can't name. It almost reminds him of Dr. Udaku's accent, though his is much heavier. He figures it would be too much of a coincidence and quickly waves off the thought.

"How may I help you?" she asks.

"Morning, I'm here for the uh, 9:30." he replies, deciding to rest his hands on the desk. Maybe in an effort to show what he's working with, maybe to find something to do with his hands. He's not so sure.

She glances down for less than a second, but seems to be unfazed, once again tapping at her device. She looks back up, "Name?"

"Bu- James. James Barnes."

"Okay," she reads something on her screen, " _Sergeant_ Barnes," she answers, locking eyes with him and pressing a tight smile, "I don't think I've seen you before. Is this your first time?"

"Yeah."

"Ah. Well, welcome, I actually have-" she continues, raising up a finger as she backs up her office chair, leaning down and to the side to look at what he assumes is some type of shelf, or drawer. When she kneels down Bucky notices her intricate undercut, precise diagonal lines shaven neatly to a point in the middle. 

She comes back up with a brochure and puts it on the table, ducking down again to grab a sticky note that she sticks on top. Using a silver and gold pen, she starts writing.

"Today you're in with Dr. Potts..." she drags out the name as she spells it before continuing, "You're welcome to have a seat. She should be with you in about ten minutes." as

She holds up the papers with another smile. As he grabs them his flesh hand brushes past her own _ever_ so slightly and he swears he feels sparks. He knows he being ridiculous. Tells himself it's because this is probably the first contact he's had with someone who wasn't Steve in a while. Someone that happened to be _extremely_ pretty. 

Someone that has kind eyes, and a dazzling smile, and-

What is wrong with him? He quickly shakes away the thoughts. As he goes to sit down, the woman eyes him for a moment before going back to her work.

He tries to read, getting through two pages about why the clinic was founded before getting distracted by the flashing silver plates of his left arm. He sees the woman out of the corner of his eye, braids back in her face, swaying as she looks down, up at the screen, and back down again, until finally, huffing and pulling the rest of the locks out of her ponytail, putting everything back in place in a few practiced moves. 

It's endearing, he thinks before she looks out into the waiting area and catches his eye, and he realizes he must've been staring for a good ten minutes. He makes a point of keeping his eyes glued to the brochure until Dr. Potts gets him. 

* * *

He's starting to become familiar with the place now, even regularly stopping to look at paintings in the hallway, of which there are very many.

He'd wandered somewhere on the second floor, looking at a painting, mentioned in the description to be an exploding star. He felt it was messy, and didn't get it but decided art was subjective and moved to the next.

This was a collection of four, each the same size, stacked in a two row grid, a few inches of space between them. As he stands with his arms joined behind him, head tilted sideways to look at how each canvas was a different planet, a soft voice rings out behind him.

"James?"

He turns around and sees someone walking towards him, a cup of coffee in one hand and a file in the other. "Oh, how are you, Shuri?"

Oh yeah, they're on a first name basis now.

"I'm doing well thank you, how about yourself." she answers, taking a sip of her espresso. He was taking in her outfit - she did have a peculiar sense of style - consisting of one of the mesh jackets she so favored, this time orange. It was when he looked at her silver-striped black pants that he realized he'd never actually seen her bottom half before.

She'd always been behind that desk of hers, and he'd never really thought about it. It was a strange revelation.

He has so many of those here. In a way, seeing her consistently has helped. _Consistency_ has helped.

He's getting back into the swing of things. Finding routines, like telling Steve to drop him off early deeper in the city for his weekly appointments. He likes to think he's finally making a life for himself.

He's seen Shuri every week for a while now. He also likes to think that they're friends.

"Bucky."

Her brows furrow.

"Bucky. I think you can call me Bucky now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a while but this was fun to write. We're finally really getting into the story now. Anyway, thank you so much for reading. Feedback is appreciated! Have a wonderful day/night!


End file.
